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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441220">Permanent Change of Station</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e'>gth694e</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Breakfast, First Kiss, Fluff, Get Together, Light Angst, M/M, Strike Team Delta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:20:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson has been reassigned from LA to DC. He's not sure how to tell his team.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton &amp; Phil Coulson &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Phil Coulson &amp; Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>165</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Permanent Change of Station</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertigrossi/gifts">concertigrossi</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is for concertigrossi, because she's had a rough time of late. But it's also for all of us, because man the past two months--the past week!--have been rough. And we deserve a little sweetness. </p>
<p>PCS = Permanent Change of Station, i.e. the acronym used to describe when people in the military are assigned to new bases and move. </p>
<p>PCSing is pronounced like it's spelled "P-C-essing" and PCSed is "P-C-essed." I've heard this acronym used like this a lot, but your personal experience may vary!</p>
<p>This fic is unbeta'd so all errors are my own.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phil steeled himself before leaving his car. He met his own gaze in the rear-view mirror as he pulled on Agent Coulson like a well-worn costume. Agent Coulson always did what needed to be done, even what needed to be done was unpleasant at best and had the ability to destroy him at worst. Not that anything could destroy Agent Coulson, it was just Phil himself who was at risk.</p>
<p>Which shouldn’t have been the case, after all this wasn’t Phil’s first rodeo. He’d been an Army Ranger for Christ’s sake. This had been his entire life since he was eighteen. He’d had so many duty stations, deployments, and long-term ops that sometimes it was hard for Phil to remember all the places he had lived. He tried to tick them all off now in his mind: Fort Leonard Wood for boot camp, Grenada for hell, Fort Benning for the Rangers, Diego Garcia with the SEALS, Geilenkirchen for that NATO stint, Fort Lewis because he had earned one goddamn good location in his entire career before being shipped back out to a location that was so classified he couldn’t even bring himself to think it in his own mind.</p>
<p>Fury had promised SHIELD would be different, that he would go on a million ops, be sent to parts of the world that people tended to forget existed, but that he would always come back to the same home base. And for the past fifteen years that had been LA.</p>
<p>Phil wasn’t home often, certainly not enough for a cat or dog or…whatever it was normal people had at home, but he had <em>had </em>a home, one that had been his for over a decade. Which had enabled him to actually begin to collect again, without worrying about how he was going to pack it all up. Hell, he had finally stopped hoarding boxes, for all the luck that did him now.</p>
<p>Of course, Phil had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t the location or the stuff that made it a home, not really. Sure, there were some items that no matter where he lived signaled that this place was his: Lola in the garage, his grandmother’s quilt tossed over the back of the couch, a picture of his first Rangers team hanging on the wall. Those were things he had carried with him through every PCS. But this time was different—he couldn’t lie to himself and say it wasn’t. Because this time, there was a dent in his couch that hadn’t been caused by his butt, a box of cereal in his pantry that he didn’t even like, and two go-bags in his guest room that didn’t belong to him. This time he had Clint and Natasha, and that changed everything.</p>
<p>Phil managed to get out of his car, smoothing his suit jacket down as he turned to face the diner. They were sitting in a booth by the window—they always were. They liked to keep sight lines on the street. He knew they both saw him, even though neither had moved to acknowledge him. Natasha seemed to be lazily flipping through the menu—even though she always ordered the same thing—and Clint looked as if he was napping behind his sunglasses. Friday morning breakfasts at this diner, when they weren’t on an op, was part of what Phil would be leaving behind. And as he stood there staring at them, he wasn’t sure he could do it.</p>
<p>But he had to. He knew he had to. It wasn’t just that this was a huge promotion—which it was—it was that Fury had asked for him. The newly appointed Director Fury had looked Phil in the eye and told him point blank that he <em>needed</em> him at the Triskelion. Phil couldn’t say no to that. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say no to that. When the Director of SHIELD told you that you were one of the two people in the entire fucking organization that he trusted, you didn’t protest. You went.</p>
<p>Phil couldn’t lie to himself. He hadn’t wanted to say no. Not in that moment. Not when Fury had looked at him like that, with that fucking trust which he extended to no one, not when Fury had quietly asked him by name to join him. Phil had followed Fury from the Rangers to SHIELD, and he would now follow him from LA to DC. Phil would have followed him to space if Fury had asked him—which he hadn’t, and Phil was still fucking bitter about it. It wasn’t until after their conversation, when Phil had gotten back to his office and saw two master assassins sitting on his couch that he remembered that this time, he had something to give up by leaving.</p>
<p>Natasha looked up from her menu with a small frown directed at him, and that was when Phil realized he had stood in the parking lot too long. He smoothed down his suit one more time and walked into the diner.</p>
<p>Phil slipped into his usual seat next to Clint as if nothing was wrong. As usual he kept a solid six inches between them (“for Jesus” he could hear his mother’s voice), and picked up his own menu as if nothing was wrong, as if this breakfast didn’t have the potential to break him.</p>
<p>“Morning, Coulson,” Natasha said, her glance for more considering then Phil wished. Clint tilted his head, his glasses lazily sliding down his nose as he said languidly, “Morning, boss.”</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late,” Phil said, trying to pretend like Natasha’s assessing stare and the way Clint’s eyelashes lay across his cheek as he checked Phil over didn’t make his heart patter unevenly.</p>
<p>“Bad news at the office?” Natasha asked, which he knew was her way of asking if they had a mission, if something was wrong, if they needed to abandon breakfast in order to head straight to SHIELD.</p>
<p>“No, actually the opposite,” Phil said trying to keep his voice congenial and upbeat. It was good news. Phil was being promoted. That was good news. They were his friends. They would be happy for him. And well, they had each other. They would be fine without him. It was Phil who would be alone.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Natasha raised one elegant eyebrow. Phil felt Clint shift next to him, leaning towards Phil, who most certainly did not look at him. Looking at Clint would undo him he knew. Looking at Nat was much safer for his heart. She might be disappointed by his news—maybe—but her face wouldn’t show it either way. She wasn’t a superspy for no reason.</p>
<p>It was Clint’s face that he couldn’t bear to look at while he told them the news. It was Clint’s face that would break him. These people were his team. He had recruited them both into SHIELD, had helped them find their place, and he was so goddamn proud of the people they had become. It amazed him on a daily basis that despite all the bad they had seen in the world that they had taken Phil’s hand when he offered it, and slowly learned to trust again.</p>
<p>They were two of SHIELD’s most prized assets, and they were Phil’s two most prized friends. He didn’t think he would survive it if he told him the news, and it turned out that they didn’t care. He couldn’t bear it if they just warmly wished him luck and congenially sent him on his way. If it turned out, that they meant more, so much more to him, then he meant to them…he didn’t want to know.</p>
<p>Which is why he’d almost just not told them. This is why it was a week out from his move out date, and he still hadn’t been brave enough to have this conversation. Because he didn’t want to discover that in the end, he was just another handler to them, when they each, in their own way, carried his heart.</p>
<p>“Earth to Coulson,” Clint said, knocking shoulders with Phil. Or it would have been a knock, if Clint had pulled away after. Instead his strong arm was pressed against Phil, unmoving. Phil did not scoot away, though every alarm in his head was telling him to, that letting him sit like this pressed up against Clint was a danger. “You in there, boss?”</p>
<p>“Yes, sorry,” Phil said, still determinedly not looking at Clint. “It’s been…a week, I guess.”</p>
<p>Natasha hummed in response, her look speculative, but before she could say anything, their usual waitress came up with a pot of coffee and a smile. “The usual for you three?”</p>
<p>“Yes, please, Maria,” Phil said, and his team nodded their agreements. They came here every Friday when they were in town—which wasn’t as often as Phil liked, especially not anymore—and Maria always took good care of them. (It helped that they tipped very generously). Phil would have to remember to tip her even more today, since it was looking more and more like this was going to be his last Friday in LA. His last Friday having breakfast as part of Strike Team Delta.</p>
<p>“So, boss,” Clint’s voice was casual, almost too casual, and he still hadn’t moved, the long lengths of his arm pressing against Phil. It was only decades of training that kept Phil able to still think with that arm against him. He was a spy, goddammit, he did not get distracted by his asset’s arms. No matter how delicious they were. “What’s the good news?”</p>
<p>It was the perfect opening, and Phil should just spit it out. <em>I am moving to DC</em>, he should say. Or maybe <em>I’m being promoted.</em> Instead what came out was, “I am so proud of you two.”</p>
<p>To Phil’s surprise Clint pulled back, and Phil felt a little lost without the heat of his arm. Natasha had frozen with her coffee cup halfway down from her lips. “Excuse me?” Clint said, his voice strangled.</p>
<p>This hadn’t been the direction he had intended this conversation go to, but if there was one thing Phil Coulson knew, it was how to respond to the unexpected and make it seem planned. “Your performance these past couple of years has been…exemplary, beyond exemplary. Do you know how many agents could have pulled off Tel Aviv? Or Baku? Most wouldn’t have even survived Budapest, let alone pulled off those objectives.”</p>
<p>“Fucking Tel Aviv,” Clint grumbled. “That was a fucking shit-show.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t do it alone.” Natasha’s words were careful, as careful as the way she set down her mug, as if it was fine china and not just a crappy diner mug. Her gaze was sharp. “You had our backs.”</p>
<p>“I was unconscious in Budapest,” Phil reminded her. “That was all you two.”</p>
<p>Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Are you quitting on us, Coulson?”</p>
<p>And of course, the Black Widow saw through his front, of course she heard his words and cut through its niceties to the truth. This was what happened when your team was made up of world-renowned superspies.</p>
<p>“I’m not quitting,” Phil said. “I’ve been reassigned.” He felt Clint stiffen beside him and then pull away, leaving Phil’s arm suddenly cold. He braced himself, ready for whatever was coming: anger, sadness, or worse, indifference. “PCS to DC in a week.”</p>
<p>“Thank fuck,” Clint said in relief to Phil’s complete surprise. The words felt like a knife plunged into his heart, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He had expected a lot of responses, but he couldn’t say he had expected Clint to be relieved Phil was leaving.</p>
<p>“We’re finally talking about this,” Clint said. “Boss, I have so many plans.” Plans? At that, Phil couldn’t help himself, he turned to look at Clint, who was digging through a messenger bag. Then to Phil’s complete surprise, Clint pulled out one of those thick books of maps from his bag. It looked brand new—at least the current year was emblazoned across the cover—but the entire book was tabbed like a textbook for a nervous undergrad’s first open book test.</p>
<p>Clint flipped it open to a zoomed-out view of the American southwest. There were locations circled, roads highlighted, and sticky notes with both his and Natasha’s handwriting. It looked like…if Phil didn’t know any better it looked like they were planning a road trip.</p>
<p>“Nat’s never been the Grand Canyon,” Clint kept talking, as if Phil was supposed to understand what he was talking about, “so that’s an obvious stop. We can even hit Vegas, since we’ll be in the area.  What I couldn’t figure out is if we should go to Carlsbad. It’s completely out of the way and kind of dictates we need to go through Texas, which means we’re probably not going to get to Mount Rushmore. So what do you think, boss. Rushmore or Carlsbad?”</p>
<p>What did Phil think? Phil thought he had no idea what was happening. “I…what?”</p>
<p>Clint looked up from his map at that, his face uncertain. “Unless you didn’t want to see the Grand Canyon?”</p>
<p>“Of course, he wants to see the Grand Canyon,” Natasha said, a bit disdainfully. “Everyone wants to see the Grand Canyon.”</p>
<p>“I went once,” Phil managed to say. “As a kid, but…it’s definitely worth another look?”</p>
<p>“Okay, good,” Clint said with a firm nod. He pulled out a pen from somewhere and put a star on the map next to the Grand Canyon.</p>
<p>This still didn’t help Phil understand what was happening, and as much as he hated looking stupid, he hated feeling lost more. So finally, he asked, “Are we going on a road trip?”</p>
<p>“Were you going to fly?” Clint asked, now it was his turn to look puzzled. “Really? Was your plan to just sell the car and buy a new one there? That’s a terrible plan. This is so much better. The SHIELD movers are scheduled to show up next Thursday, right?” And Clint flipped to another page, where he had paperclipped an itinerary. The Amazing Hawkeye, Mr. Clint “I fly by the seat of my pants” Barton, had made an itinerary. Phil felt his heart seize for an entirely different reason. It was just too adorable. And too Clint. This wasn’t a SHIELD agent, confident and ready for whatever came. This was the circus-boy, who was used to strict movements and timetables as they traveled from city-to-city.</p>
<p>“We all know it’s going to take the movers weeks to get there,” Clint said. “Sitwell said last time SHIELD moved him it took three weeks to get his stuff. And Fury said he was giving you at least two weeks off. So that gives us a lot of wiggle room here. There’s a lot we can see in two weeks, and Nat’s never really seen any of it outside of an op, so I thought, you know. It would be a good idea? Unless…” his eyes narrowed. “You do like road trips, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Did Phil like road trips? He didn’t even know. When was the last time he had taken one for fun? With his parents? When they drove to Disney World that one time? That had been a nightmare. He loved his parents, and he loved his childhood, but the memory of his mom trying to decipher the map while his dad missed their turn—well, road trips could stress out even the most loving and supportive of couples.</p>
<p>But the question on Phil’s tongue wasn’t about road trips, or that fact that Clint had apparently spent quite a bit of time researching and preparing different itineraries based on what he thought Phil would like to see. It was that…”You know?” he asked. “That I’m PCSing to DC?”</p>
<p>Natasha and Clint both looked up at him, Natasha with slightly narrowed eyes and Clint with surprised ones. “You mean,” Natasha said. “That <em>we</em>’<em>re</em> PCSing to DC.”</p>
<p>“We are?” Phil repeated. He hadn’t felt this lost since his first few weeks at SHIELD, trying to get a handle on the new acronyms in the briefing reports.</p>
<p>For a moment, neither Clint or Natasha responded. When Clint did speak, his voice was quiet and dangerous. “You mean you thought you were going alone.” The other man pulled his sunglasses off, so the full force of his gaze landed on Phil, pinning him to the spot. “You mean you thought we didn’t know and you waited until today—until a week out to tell us?” His voice was getting louder now. Other patrons were turning their direction. “You mean you were just going to leave us?”</p>
<p>“Fucking hell,” Clint swore. He slammed the map book closed with one hand, but his laser gaze, which always saw everything, didn’t let up from Phil. Phil couldn’t move. “I thought we were a team. I thought we were friends.”</p>
<p>Before Phil could respond, Clint was up, vaulting over the back of the booth. He was out the door before Phil could even turn, leaving him alone in the booth with the Black Widow.</p>
<p>“I too am curious.” Natasha’s tone was deceptively mild. Phil turned back to her, meeting her icy gaze. “What exactly did you think would happen if we hadn’t known?”</p>
<p><em>Not this</em>, Phil thought. He knew Natasha and Clint liked him—you didn’t go to all the trouble of saving your unconscious, dying handler in Budapest if you didn’t somewhat like them—but he had been so scared that in the end, they really only tolerated him. They were the Black Widow and Amazing Hawkeye. He was just…another SHIELD handler. Replaceable.</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Phil admitted, because lying to Natasha was an exercise in futility. “But…how do you know?”</p>
<p>“Fury told us before he told you,” Natasha said. “Actually, he asked us. Wanted to know if we thought we could operate on our own, without you.” Fury had told them first? Phil’s mind reeled with the information. He remembered asking Fury not to tell them he had accepted the job, and Fury agreeing. But he supposed that nothing Fury had said had implied that he hadn’t told them he was offering the job to Phil.</p>
<p>“And what did you say?” Phil asked.</p>
<p>“That we can operate alone,” Natasha said. “We really don’t need a handler anymore. Anyone but you would just cramp our style. But we also told him that we can also operate out of any base. So if you’re going to the Triskelion, we are too.”</p>
<p>Phil’s jaw absolutely did not drop. He was a spy, and spies did not give off such obvious tells. “And what did Fury say?”</p>
<p>“He agreed,” Natasha said with a delicate shrug. “Especially when we made it clear that it was a requirement of our continued employment.”</p>
<p>“But…why?” Phil asked, aghast. The idea that she and Clint would just walk away, because of him, was…he didn’t know what that was. He didn’t know how to process it. He didn’t understand it.</p>
<p>“Because Phil,” Natasha said, in her most long-suffering tone. “We’re not a team. We’re family.”</p>
<p>Phil was saved from coming up with a response by Maria’s re-appearance. She smiled brightly at them as she set pancakes, eggs, and various breakfast meats at the table.</p>
<p>Natasha chatted congenially with Maria while Phil turned over what she had said in his mind. <em>Family</em>. Was that what they were? It had been so long since Phil had a family, since his parents had died. The Rangers had talked a big talk about being family—bond of brothers and all that. But in the end, every time Phil or another Ranger PCSed, it was just another move, an excuse to drink and tell fond stories the night before and then let go and move on. Everyone always said they would stay in touch, but no one ever did.  Threatening to walk away because someone PCSed? That was like threatening to leave because the seasons changed. It was just the way it was.</p>
<p>But Phil had to admit, what he had with Nat and Clint wasn’t like what he had with the Rangers. And it wasn’t just his pathetic and unrequited crush on Hawkeye. It was the Black Widow, a woman notorious for acting and façades, crying on his couch while watching <em>Marley and Me</em>. It was the Amazing Hawkeye, known for his paranoia and trust issues, taking out his hearing aids and placing them on the table next to Phil’s keys. It was the three of them, sitting on the floor of Phil’s apartment—even though the table was literally five feet away—laughing while eating take out from different restaurants because no one had been able to agree whether Thai or Greek was the better option. But mostly it was how most nights one or both of them fell asleep in his apartment, rather than go back to their quarters, because they would rather be together than apart.</p>
<p>All of the sudden Phil felt silly, that he would ever doubt them. But he supposed it wasn’t really them he had been doubting, but himself. It was his same old insecurities, that he was nothing special. It was hard not to feel that way sometimes, when standing in the shadow of the splendor that was the Black Widow and the Amazing Hawkeye.</p>
<p>Maria left, and Natasha was quietly eating her pancakes. Phil sighed. “I owe you an apology.”</p>
<p>“Obviously,” Natasha answered, “but I’m not the one you need to worry about.” She motioned with her fork—which still had a piece of pancake on it—towards the window.</p>
<p>Phil looked out the window. Clint sat on the roof of his car, his back to the diner, but even from here Phil could see that his shoulders were tense and angry.</p>
<p>“He thought you were nervous, about the move,” Natasha continued. “We all know you are an expert about compartmentalizing, so he thought you were just ignoring it until you had no choice. He’s been hitting up liquor stores for empty boxes all week, storing them in his quarters for you. He’s been planning a going away party for you, for Wednesday night. And of course, the road trip…” She thoughtfully chewed on a piece of bacon. “He thought you were sad about leaving LA, and he thought that making the trip to DC as fun as possible would help ease the sting.”</p>
<p>Clint had done all that for him? Phil stared at the archer’s dejected back, amazed and confused. It filled him with warmth to know that Clint was so concerned about him, that Clint was trying to take care of him. And what had Phil done for him in return? Doubted him. Made him think that Phil was just another person planning to leave him.</p>
<p>“I’m an idiot,” Phil said softly.</p>
<p>“Without a doubt,” Natasha agreed. “And every moment you sit here with me, instead of going out there to him, just compounds your idiocy.”</p>
<p>That…was a fair point. “Thanks, Natasha,” Phil managed to say before escaping the booth and heading out the door.</p>
<p>Phil straightened his suit as he approached the car: a small beat up sedan with a cheap purple paint job. It had barely been running with Clint bought it, but fortunately for Clint, Phil knew quite a bit about cars. Those afternoons, working on this car with Clint, were some of Phil’s most treasured memories. Clint had a quick mind for mechanical things—in another life, where Clint went to college, Phil thought he might have become an engineer. Phil only had to explain something once, and Clint would just get it. Phil would watch as Clint reached into the engine, his shirt riding up and his ass often shaking to whatever music was blaring from Clint’s phone. Sometimes Natasha would show up, with soft drinks or beers, but often it was just Clint and Phil, smeared with grease and smelling faintly of engine oil.</p>
<p>How had Phil ever thought he could just leave them? How had he ever thought they would let him?</p>
<p>“What do you want?” Clint’s voice was flat. He hadn’t turned, but it didn’t surprise Phil that he couldn’t sneak up on the Amazing Hawkeye.</p>
<p>“To apologize,” Phil said. “I’m sorry, Clint.” Clint didn’t respond, his shoulders still tense and hunched over, and then Phil figured fuck it, in for a penny in for a pound and all that. He clamored up the car, even though the roof groaned ominously as he settled next to Clint. Phil didn’t turn to look at him, he just sat next to him, their shoulders touching, arms pressed together.</p>
<p>For a moment they sat in silence, and then Phil felt Clint’s shoulders shake and his breath hitch. “What the fuck, boss,” Clint said. “You were just going to…to leave? And never look back? What the fuck?”</p>
<p>“Who said I wasn’t going to look back?” Phil said. “I couldn’t say no to Fury, but…leaving you. I didn’t know if I could do it.” He sighed. “It’s part of why I waited so long to say anything. If I ignored it, maybe it would just…go away. Plus, I really wasn’t sure you guys would miss me.”</p>
<p>“You weren’t sure?” Clint’s voice sounded strangled. Phil looked over to see Clint looking at him with a devastated expression. “How could you? I…” He shook his head. “And here I thought Agent Coulson knew everything.”</p>
<p>Phil huffed. “Well, turns out my reputation is grossly overexaggerated.” Phil broke Clint’s gaze, afraid of the intensity and hurt he saw there. He looked down at Clint’s knobby knuckles instead. God, he loved those knuckles. Some days it took every ounce of his self-control not to grab that hand and bring those knuckles to his lips.</p>
<p>But Clint wasn’t his…not like that. Though, it did seem, Clint was more his than he had realized.</p>
<p>“Agent Coulson? Exaggerated?” Clint’s voice turned slightly scandalized, and something in Phil’s chest relaxed. If Clint could joke then that probably meant they were going to be okay.</p>
<p>“Well, don’t tell the junior agents,” Phil said.</p>
<p>“I would never,” Clint swore. Then he sighed. “Shit, Coulson. What did you think would happen this morning? If we didn’t know?</p>
<p>It was the same question Natasha had asked. He almost answered Clint the same way he’d answered Natasha, that he didn’t know, but…he couldn’t. Not sitting on the car that he and Clint had built, not when Clint’s warm broad arm was pressed against him. Not when he knew everything Clint had done to try to ease his nerves about this move.</p>
<p>Phil looked down, and when he spoke it was to his own hands. “I thought you wouldn’t care.”</p>
<p>“What?” Clint’s voice was strangled. “You thought I didn’t…care? About you?”</p>
<p>Phil shrugged—his shoulder sliding against Clint’s. “I’m just your handler, Clint. Sitwell could do the job just as well, or Hand, or Garrett. Though really, you don’t need one anymore. You and Natasha, you’re unstoppable, and you have each other. I guess I thought I was…superfluous.”</p>
<p>His words rung like truth in his heart. When he had brought them in, each at different times, they had been feral. Clint had been a mercenary, on the run for so long he no longer remembered what it meant to trust. Natasha had been serving a government that no longer existed, her place in the world lost. They had needed Phil and each other then. But if Budapest had proven anything, it was that they no longer needed Phil.</p>
<p>He had just never really believed before that they <em>wanted</em> him.</p>
<p>“Superfluous,” Clint repeated. “Fuck, I can’t do this.” Suddenly Clint was scrambling down the side of the car—and before Phil really realized what was happening, Clint was pulling Phil after him.</p>
<p>Phil didn’t really know what he thought was going to happen next. What he did not expect was for Clint to push him up against the car and hold him there tightly, pinning his shoulders against the sedan, so he could stare intently into his eyes. “You don’t fucking remember Budapest at all, do you?”</p>
<p>“I…remember getting hit,” Phil said. “I remember waking up in Medical.”</p>
<p>“I nearly lost my mind,” Clint said, his eyes searching Phil’s face. What was he looking for? “When you got hurt. I saw you fall, and I wasn’t fucking there because I was on that roof. You fell so hard, I thought…I thought you were dead.”</p>
<p>“There was nothing you could have done,” Phil said soothingly. “The fact that you and Natasha pulled me out of there—Clint. What more could I ask for? You saved me.”</p>
<p>“They wouldn’t let me in your room,” Clint said, his tone still desperate as if Phil was missing the point. “When we got you to SHIELD medical. Something to do with HIPAA or something. Assets don’t have the right. And I…I almost lost my mind.” He kept saying that, like it was important, that he almost lost his mind.</p>
<p>“I needed to be by your side. I needed to be there when you woke.”</p>
<p>“You were,” Phil assured him. “I remember that. You and Natasha were both there when I woke up.”</p>
<p>“And it took a fucking call from Fury.” Clint suddenly dropped his arms, stepping back and turning away. He ran his hands through his hair, a nervous tell if he ever had one. “Fury is your fucking next of kin. What the fuck even is that?”</p>
<p>“I…he’s my oldest friend, Clint,” Phil said. He was losing the thread of this conversation. Again, he didn’t know what was happening. How as it that Clint Barton could make him feel so lost? So uncertain. “And I don’t have any family.”</p>
<p>“You have me!” Clint whirled back around, his finger pointed at him, accusing. Phil would have stepped back, but his back was already against the car. There was no place to go.</p>
<p>“You want to be my next of kin?” Phil said the words slowly. He supposed it made sense, with what Natasha had said. They were supposed to be family. And if that was true, then he should have put one of the two of them as his next of kin, instead of Fury. Phil knew they had each other listed, Clint for Nat and she for him. But as their supervising officer, their handler, that hadn’t been a concern. He was allowed in as a matter of course. He had never really considered that the same favor wasn’t returned. That if something happened to him, Clint and Nat weren’t allowed in his room. </p>
<p>Of course, he hadn’t thought it mattered.</p>
<p>Clint lost energy, his finger falling and his shoulders slumping. “Couls—I…” He shook his head and locked eyes with him. There was something there, in that intensity. Something Phil couldn’t quite read. Or maybe he could read, he just couldn’t believe it. Then Clint sighed and it was his name. Not Coulson. Not boss. “<em>Phil</em>.”</p>
<p>And Phil knew.</p>
<p>He didn’t know how he had been so blind. How he hadn’t seen it, other than he was an oblivious idiot. It should have been obvious. Assets don’t choose to rebuild cars with their handlers, when they can afford perfectly nice ones. Assets don’t drop in with take-out at your home for dinner, or watch old Captain America propaganda movies until falling asleep on the couch. Assets don’t hold your hand in Medical, while you recover. They don’t plan elaborate road trips because they think you’re nervous. And assets certainly don’t threaten to walk rather than be stationed separately from you.</p>
<p>Clint Barton wasn’t just Phil’s asset, but more importantly, Clint didn’t want to be. If Phil was reading this right, then what Clint wanted was something more. More than colleagues. More than friends. More than even the familial relationship he had with Natasha.</p>
<p>Phil’s body moved without his permission. He reached up, gently placing his palm over Clint’s cheek. Clint’s eyes went wide, wild even, but he didn’t pull away. “Clint,” he said. “I will never leave you behind.”</p>
<p>“But you were going to,” Clint said quietly, desperately.</p>
<p>“Because I didn’t know,” Phil said.</p>
<p>Clint stiffened beneath his hands. “Know what?”</p>
<p>“That you love me too.”</p>
<p>For a moment it was like the world held its breath. Clint was frozen beneath his hand, his eyes still large and wild. Phil couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even really believe he just said that out loud for just anyone to hear.</p>
<p>Then Clint’s expression broke, and his voice cracked as he said, “Too?”</p>
<p>Phil stepped forward, slowly, just in case it was possible he was misreading. He telegraphed his movements carefully, so that if Clint wanted to pull away, he could. But the archer stood still, as if mesmerized. Phil stepped straight into his space, his hand never leaving Clint’s cheek. “Yes,” he said softly. “I love you too.”</p>
<p>And then Phil kissed Clint.</p>
<p>Clint released a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and then he melted into Phil’s arm, pushing Phil back up against the car.</p>
<p>Phil had never let himself really dream of what it would be like to kiss Clint, not actively. It was a thought that had always skirted the edges of his mind when he was in bed on the edge of wake and sleep. It had been a thought too powerful, too overwhelming to think about while fully conscious. But not a single one of those skittish thoughts could have imagined this: what Clint would feel like pressed against him, how pliant his lips would be against Phil’s. And he certainly never could have imagined that when the kiss was done, Clint would sigh like a man fully sated and whisper his name against his neck. “Phil.”</p>
<p>Maybe they stood like that for eternity, buried in each other. Or maybe it was just the length of a few erratic heart beats. Phil lost time in Clint’s arms. He could have stayed there forever. Until an amused voice broke their embrace. “Boys,” Natasha said. “Your breakfast is getting cold. And we still have to get to the office in an hour.”</p>
<p>Moments later they were back in the booth, eating breakfast while Clint showed him their road trip plans, flipping through his map book and showing Phil the options. Natasha stole bacon off of Clint’s plate while was engrossed in the map of Florida, trying to figure out if it would be worth it to swing down by Disney World.</p>
<p>“We went to Disneyland,” Natasha said with a shrug. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Nat,” Clint said aghast. “Disneyland can fit in Disney World’s parking lot! You can’t….you can’t even compare them!”</p>
<p>“Well, Disneyland is the original,” Phil said, and Clint looked at Phil betrayed.</p>
<p>“Epcot, Phil,” Clint tried to explain. “The Food and Wine festival! We <em>have </em>to!”</p>
<p>“Or we could go to Boston,” Natasha said tapping the map. “See the Constitution or whatever.”</p>
<p>“That’s too far north!” Clint flipped pages in the map. “And if we’re going to do that we might as well swing by SHIELD New York and see Bobbi and Lance.”</p>
<p>“Is that strictly necessary?” Natasha asked. “What if we just saw <em>Wicked </em>instead?”</p>
<p>“Bobbi will murder me if we don’t drop in while we’re that way…”</p>
<p>Phil let them argue, taking a drink of coffee and letting the warmth of the drink and the moment fill him. This was his team, his family. LA, DC, or Budapest, it didn’t matter; they would be there, putting their butt imprints in his sofa, putting Kashi cereal in his pantry, and leaving their shoes in his doorway.</p>
<p>Clint looked up at him—apparently having asked a question which Phil didn’t hear—and his expression went soft. “You okay, boss?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Phil said, squeezing his hand. “I think I am.”</p>
<p>And he thought maybe he could be stationed anywhere—LA, DC, even the Sandbox—if it meant Natasha and Clint were there.</p>
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